


The Feel of Your Touch

by Goddess_of_the_Night, KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Eavesdropping, Accidental Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, But More Accurately, But Only Briefly Because, Caring John, Coming In Pants, Embarrassed Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Hasn't Had An Orgasm Ever, John Takes Good Care of Him, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Premature Ejaculation, Shameless Smut, Smut, Virgin Sherlock, While Awake, discovering feelings, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_of_the_Night/pseuds/Goddess_of_the_Night, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: Sherlock inadvertently (he really doesn't know how; John just masturbated yesterday and isn't due for another wank until at least three days from now) hears John wanking in his room - while thinking about Sherlock, if his moans are anything to go by."Having John so close to him, kissing him like he meant something to someone was almost too much in itself. Sherlock broke off the kiss and slammed his head back against the wall with a moan.“God, even kissing?” John asked in wonder, questioning the fates about how he became this lucky.“It’s your touch,” Sherlock panted, eyes still closed with head tilted back, “No one else has come anywhere near this sensation. No one seems to have wanted to.”“They were idiots,” John pointed out sincerely, “but now you’re here. You’re mine,” he growled before latching on to Sherlock’s enticingly long, pale neck with his lips.Sherlock groaned, hips bucking forward of their own accord, as he moaned out a “Yes, John.”"





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first attempt at a collaboration between me and KittieHill, and we hope you enjoy it! When she approached me about the opportunity, it was an offer I couldn't refuse.
> 
> Thank you so much.

It was one of those days. One of those endless, monotonous days in which nothing interesting happened and Sherlock could feel his brain cells slowly turning to dust through lack of use. He had already used a considerable amount of energy to shout at the television - another lie detector show with an annoyingly prickly host - and now he lay on the sofa, his hands resting flatly on his stomach with his eyes closed, going through a cold case murder from 1926 he had filed away and forgotten.

John, meanwhile, was clearing away the various objects from the kitchen table. He had an insane idea of actually eating at the table, but now was regretting his decision as he looked down at a beaker which seemed to be growing its own mutated lifeforms.

Not that he hadn't missed this. The quiet and calm of his life back at Baker Street which included the mad dashes around London, solving cases, and helping people again. It had been the perfect balm for the trauma and hurt of his failed marriage and the child that wasn't his, not to mention the "death" of his best friend and subject of John's every waking fantasy. Well – sometimes not even _waking_. John had started to have filthy dreams which left him right on the edge of a spectacular orgasm the moment he woke up. He no longer had any interest in sex with women, just the thought of Sherlock's long fingers wrapping around his erection was enough to get him off.

He had stopped denying his feelings, to himself and to others. John was madly, utterly, and devastatingly infatuated with Sherlock; from his hair to his weirdly chimp-like toes.

John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eye. The detective was either asleep or lost deep in his mind palace. Probably talking to Jack the Ripper or something. John chuckled at the thought as he poured half a bottle of bleach into the beakers, hopefully killing whatever creatures were rising up.

Sherlock's eyes flickered behind his lids as he considered the evidence, going over it again and again before reaching his final conclusion.

“Oh!” Sherlock cried, his eyes flickering open and his mouth making a perfect circle, “Oh that's – Oh, how exquisite. How utterly perfect and – and – John? Where are you going?”

As soon as Sherlock had spoken, John’s attention had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame, but one look at the genius’ face of delighted rapture had his trousers feeling altogether too tight. Fearing that Sherlock would notice, John had made a bee-line for his bedroom.

“Don’t you want to know what I figured out?” Sherlock called to him in disappointment. Catching a lead on a case - even a cold one - is only as pleasing as John’s reaction to it. Without that, what’s the point?

“In a moment. I’ve just remembered something I have to deal with,” John called back, not daring to turn around.

Sherlock pouted dramatically before shrugging and settling back into the sofa, unwilling to analyze the feeling of disappointment in his gut. He lost himself back in his mind palace, looking for more clues about the case before becoming distracted again. What could John have needed to do up in his room, and just how long had he been gone? With a sense of curiosity that would make even a cat jealous, Sherlock stood and made his way towards the stairs to John’s bedroom.

The door was closed, which was out of the ordinary for the middle of the day like this, so Sherlock paused on the top step with a furrowed brow and a slight tilt of his head. With his keen ears, he could hear the unmistakable sound of skin-on-skin and the moans that John was obviously trying to muffle.

Sherlock’s eyebrows rose in shocked confusion, his stomach fluttering with a strange excitement at listening to something so intimate. Ever since John had returned to Baker Street, his masturbation habits had been quite rare. To be precise, he typically indulged in the act every fourth or fifth day now, as opposed to every second or third before The Mary Incident (Sherlock refused to remember that it was, in fact, a marriage), and John had just had a wank in the shower yesterday.

Interesting.

 _‘What could have caused such a bizarre break in his…’_ but his thought was cut off by a sudden, slightly louder moan from the other side of the door.

“Oh, Sherlock, _yes._ ”

John was laying back on his bed, cock in hand and head thrown back in bliss as images of Sherlock’s heart-shaped lips flooded his brain. God, how John wished that he could see Sherlock’s lips stretched across the crown of his cock, the soft gagging when John’s tip touched the back of his throat.

“Sherlock, yes. Just like that,” John moaned, his other hand moving to pluck and stroke at his now puckered nipples.

Outside the door, Sherlock’s brain had skidded offline. He could still hear the sounds of John’s self-pleasure. The slick sound of flesh combined with John’s deep groaning seemed to echo around Sherlock’s mind palace, spreading out and sticking to every surface so that Sherlock was unable to walk the corridors without hearing his name being wantonly moaned.

His own body was reacting to the sounds and the mental image of John lying back on the bed, prick in hand. His body was hot, too hot. He could feel the drips of sweat beading at his hairline and trailing down his spine to cause a shudder to run through his body.

And he was harder than he had ever been in his life.

Sherlock hadn’t really bothered with self-pleasure in the past. The act was dull, boring, and repetitive and Sherlock had always struggled to maintain an erection whenever his traitorous body insisted it needed relief. Knowing he was unable to keep his penis in a hardened state, Sherlock often relied on nocturnal emissions to keep his body healthy and sated.

However, he didn’t think that it would be a problem this time judging by the twitching, throbbing member between his legs which seemed to already be leaking and coating the inside of his satin boxer shorts with wetness.

With a slow shaking hand, Sherlock placed the heel of his palm over his cock. The layers of cloth between his skin dulled the pleasure slightly, but Sherlock wasn’t quite bold enough - nor far gone enough - to reach inside to grasp himself. It had been 10, maybe 15 years since he had even _attempted_ masturbation, so unsatisfying were his continued efforts with the practice, and the feeling was electric.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip as he huffed out a breath through his nose, trying desperately not to make any noise that would alert John to his presence. Sherlock notoriously disregarded social niceties, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t aware that this whole situation was a bit Not Good.

Instead of letting his imagination take over with a fantasy, he focused his energy on John. The noises he had slowly allowed to increase in volume, imagining what he must look like right now, separated from him only by a flimsy door. He envisioned John lying on his back, hand wrapped around his impressive erection. Sherlock knew from observing that John’s girth was above average, even if the length was fairly standard.

Sherlock thought about touching the other man’s cock; wrapping his hand around it and distinguishing what movements he liked best. Could his movements, for example, wring the same moans from John as the other man is able to draw from himself?

“Sherlock _fuck,_ your mouth,” John moaned again.

Sherlock withdrew his hand quickly, almost guiltily, as he heard his name again. The thought entered his mind unbidden: his mouth on John. Sherlock moaned quietly as he envisioned it, leaking more precome into his shorts. He placed his left hand on the frame of the door for support as he fought to control his breathing again.

On the other side, John was close. The desperate need to come was so intense that he could almost taste it against his tongue as he twisted his hand around the tip, smearing the precome with his thumb while he touched and circled around his frenulum.

John hadn’t even bothered getting undressed. He had simply pulled down his trousers to mid-thigh and pulled his shirt up to his neck to allow for the stripes of ejaculate which were bound to land across his belly.

“Take it,” John was chanting, coming unhinged and mindless in his pleasure, “Take it, that’s it, so good. So clever. My detective.”

Sherlock bit his tongue to stop the moan which threatened to escape. The pleasure which he received from John’s praise had always been an intimate, almost physical, thrill. Feeling like he was pleasing John had softened him slightly when he dealt with victims' families, or when he showed off with his rapid-fire deductions.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, feeling the urge to touch the door in an attempt to get closer to John without actually allowing the doctor to know he was there.

“ _Sherlock!_ ” John cried out, throwing his head back and freezing solid as he sprayed his stomach with pulses of pearly come.

As John lay panting on his bed, idly moving his fingers through the traces of his release with a small smile, Sherlock was paralyzed with want. He had never in his entire life been this aroused, of that he was certain, and he had no real idea what to do with that information.

He was so entranced by his own thoughts that Sherlock didn’t hear the quiet movements as John cleaned himself up, redressed, and moved towards the door. It opened to finally bring a distinctly disheveled, mildly confused Consulting Detective face to face with the sated, now shocked and mildly embarrassed Doctor. For an eternity (if either man had to estimate), they simply stared at each other.

Finally, something in Sherlock broke and he began stepping backwards, forgetting that he was on the steps, “John, I...I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he stammered before slipping backwards.

John’s strong hands reached out and grabbed his upper arms reflexively, stopping the lanky man from gracelessly falling and probably breaking something. In pulling him back onto solid ground, however, John had inadvertently brought their bodies flush together. Sherlock’s still very present erection pushed into John’s lower belly, causing Sherlock to release a low moan that caught them both off guard.

John looked down at their joined bodies futilely, trying to glimpse the evidence below, as though he couldn’t trust his own sense of touch on the matter. He swallowed thickly as he looked back up at Sherlock’s face to find it averted in shame.

“Sherlock?” John asked quietly, not wanting to get his hopes up; he had learned from a life full of disappointments how much false hope can hurt.

Sherlock could not believe his erection hadn’t abated from the awkwardness. If anything, his arousal had only increased by having been caught listening outside the door. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?! He shook his head and tried to think of anything except the warm, hard body pressed against his.

It didn’t work.

Sherlock’s body took it upon itself to move things back into a direction it was more interested in by pressing their hips closer and increasing the pressure on his cock, causing them both to moan.

“You want this?” John asked, obviously confused and affected by their closeness. His cock had stirred even though it was unable to get hard again after his recent orgasm, but it didn’t matter as he rolled his hips and looked up at Sherlock lovingly, “Want _me_?”

Sherlock bit his lip, looking between John’s eyes and lips before he gave a single, tentative nod.

John smiled widely and twisted their bodies so they were closer to his bedroom than the stairs. Pushing Sherlock through the doorway, John manhandled them until Sherlock was resting with his back to the wall and John’s strong, muscular thigh between his legs.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” John whispered, his hand moving to stroke a lock of hair away from Sherlock’s sweaty forehead.

“It’s too much,” Sherlock said immediately, seemingly unable to stop the words flying from his mouth.

“Oh,” John said, removing his thigh rapidly and taking a step back, leaving Sherlock bereft of heat and John’s scent, “I thought you...I thought you wanted this.”

“I do!” Sherlock insisted, his hands scrambling to reach for John to pull him closer so he could hide his blushing face in the crook of John’s neck, “I just…what I mean is…it’s never...not before. Like this.”

Putting the comments together, John suddenly understood and smiled warmly “Oh! Oh you mean you haven’t...right. That’s fine! That’s...we can go slowly.”

Sherlock huffed out a breath and focussed what blood was left in his brain on speaking, “My penis has never been like this,” he said, gesturing to his crotch which was still rudely tented, “not for this length of time. I haven’t...touched myself for a long time. Many years.”

“Really?” John asked, shocked and surprised. His tone of voice must have been too much as Sherlock turned to move away with a mumble of apology, “No, Sherlock stop!” John insisted, pushing Sherlock back and trapping him with his arms, “It’s fine! It’s okay.”

“It _aches_ ,” Sherlock admitted, his eyes downcast to the floor.

“Would you like me to make you feel better?” John asked, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s jaw line.

Sherlock couldn’t even form words, he simply nodded his head while shyly avoiding eye contact.

“Slow,” John whispered, almost as a reminder to them both.

“Please,” was all Sherlock could say in response.

John leaned in and kissed Sherlock comfortingly. Sherlock was shocked by the act, anticipating that John would just go straight for his cock. This was another thing that he’d never properly experienced: a thorough, emotional kiss. Having John so close to him, kissing him like he _meant something to someone_ was almost too much in itself. Sherlock broke off the kiss and slammed his head back against the wall with a moan.

“God, even kissing?” John asked in wonder, questioning the fates about how he became this lucky.

“It’s your touch,” Sherlock panted, eyes still closed with head tilted back, “No one else has come anywhere near this sensation. No one seems to have _wanted_ to.”

“They were idiots,” John pointed out sincerely, “but now you’re here. You’re _mine_ ,” he growled before latching on to Sherlock’s enticingly long, pale neck with his lips.

Sherlock groaned, hips bucking forward of their own accord, as he moaned out a “Yes, John.”

As John’s left hand moved to Sherlock’s chest, finding his right nipple through his t-shirt and teasing it through the thin fabric, Sherlock bucked again. He was already closer to an orgasm than he had ever been while awake, and the feelings were so intensely powerful and almost overwhelming. It was becoming clearer by the second: Sherlock’s body wanted this, and Sherlock wanted it to be with John.

John guided Sherlock’s face back down to kiss him again, adding heat that hadn’t been there before, too worried of scaring him off. John’s hands went to work on pushing the dressing gown off Sherlock’s shoulders before lifting the shirt over his head to add it to the floor.

Running his hand along the long, pale-yet-flushed skin of Sherlock’s chest and abdomen, John kissed Sherlock intermittently, changing up each movement so Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure what was happening next. The deduction centre of his mind palace was offline, all sirens blared that this was highly unusual behaviour which caused Sherlock to slam his eyes closed and hum.

“Good?” John smiled, marking a deep purple bruise into the skin of Sherlock’s chest.

“Hmm,” Sherlock admitted with a grunt, his legs shaking and almost collapsing under him.

John kept his eyes trained on Sherlock’s face as he lowered his hand to cup Sherlock’s overly hard, wet, and throbbing cock. The cotton of Sherlock’s pajama trousers did nothing to hide the moist flesh and Sherlock buckled, grabbing onto John’s arms with a deep huff, “John…John, I...if you...I might...”

John smiled reassuringly at him as he moved to support him once more. Sherlock was magnificent like this, and John thought it a damn shame that the younger man had never allowed himself to experience this before. He was beyond chuffed that Sherlock had chosen him above all others.

“Come on, let’s get you to the bed before your legs give out,” John ordered gently while assisting him.

Sherlock sat on the bed, looking lost and vulnerable at the face of his best friend. His brain, able to function for the first time since entering the room, wondered what this all meant.

“Stop thinking,” John ordered not unkindly, sounding remarkably like the other man, “we can think it all through later, but for now...” he trailed off as his gaze turned absolutely predatory. John closed the small space between them, “lie down.”

Sherlock complied almost in a trance, locking his heated gaze with John’s as the other man climbed on top of him without touching him, simply hovering over him. John looked at him like a starving man at a feast, and a fresh wave of desire washed through Sherlock’s body and down to his cock.

John leaned down and kissed him then, starting with his mouth but trailing slowly downwards: his neck, his nipples, his navel.

“John!” Sherlock called suddenly, almost as a warning, feeling dangerously close to the edge now without even being touched. Sherlock lifted his upper body off of the bed to support himself on his elbows before he looked down at John in alarm. John simply smiled mischievously, keeping their eyes locked as he continued down to the front of Sherlock’s cotton trousers.

“J-John,” he stuttered again, falling heavily to the bed as the other man breathed warm air against the wet cloth covering his over-sensitive cock.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, lips just grazing the cock with the barest of touches.

It was enough; the heat mixed with the touch and his name. With an unbelievably loud and incoherent yell, Sherlock came in his satin boxer shorts, coating the insides with an impressive amount of semen which clung sticky and cloying to his skin and pubic hair.

When he finally came back to full awareness - although still trembling hard - Sherlock had the good grace to feel sheepish at not having lasted longer, even considering it was his first-ever conscious orgasm. One look at John’s face put his fears to rest, however; John was smiling at him like he’s never seen anything more stunning and couldn’t possibly be any more pleased at his good fortune.

Sherlock looked away so he could cover his face with his hands in embarrassment. John had no right looking at him in that way, “I’m sorry,” he apologized into his hands.

John actually chuckled and asked, “What for?”

Sherlock removed his hands to glare down at John, hating that he was being made to put voice to the reason, “I know it’s not _normal_ ,” he spat out, more angry at himself and his lack of control than anything.

John shook his head, smile unfailing as his eyes grew somehow more tender than before. He moved up the bed to lay beside him and pulled him into his arms before reassuring him, “And just when have you ever been _normal_? You detest it.”

“Touche, John,” Sherlock laughed, pulling John towards him for a tender kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read it; we truly hope you found at least some enjoyment here!
> 
> We would love to hear your thoughts via comment, kudos, or constructive criticism!
> 
> You can follow KittieHill on [Tumblr](http://kittiekatthings.tumblr.com/) for some entertaining posts.
> 
> Follow Goddess_of_the_Night on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/goddess-of-the-night04) for an easy way to keep up with any new stories from me or just to chat; I'd love hear from you :)


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